


Hollow

by hilarycantdraw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilarycantdraw/pseuds/hilarycantdraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>modern au: Sirius tries to fix things with Regulus after their father’s funeral</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> _inspired by[this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agbCspmBSWk) and queer as folk s1 e19_

Sirius hadn’t loved his father, far from it. The man was cold, abusive, cruel, and he’d never shown his family any affection. Since he was about ten, Sirius had been dreaming about the day his father would inevitably die. Occasionally, he’d question whether it would ever happen, somehow it would have been unsurprising if his father had turned out to be some sort of immortal evil being, the man had never shown any sign that he was human. At twelve, Sirius had gone through a sci-fi phase and had considered the possibility that his father was a cyborg. When he ran away from home at sixteen, Sirius imagined that the day his father died he would dance in celebration and attend the funeral just so he knew where to find his father’s grave so that he could return in the dead of night and piss on it. **  
**

Now, though, as he watched his father’s casket slowly descending into the ground, he didn’t feel much like doing any of those things. Where he had expected to feel relieved, he just felt a strange hollowness in his chest.

His father had been a prominent, important man, and as such his death had attracted a large group of mourners to stand in the damp grass, shrouded by early morning mist that hadn’t yet burned off as the sun stayed hidden behind a wall of hazy gray clouds. They gathered around, dressed in perfectly pressed black suits and dresses, listening dutifully as the pastor spoke of Orion Black’s many achievements, every face an identical mask of practiced sadness.

Sirius had wanted to come alone, but his friends hadn’t allowed that. James and Remus stood beside him, James on his left, Remus on his right, with Lily and Peter flanking them, the rest of their group standing behind them, pressing close, a buffer against his family. The only sources of warmth against the cool air were where James’ and Remus’ shoulders pressed against his own, keeping him anchored.

His mother was dabbing her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief to keep up the appearance of grief. Regulus stood next to her, looking incredibly young and pale. The expression on his face was reminiscent of how he used to look when he’d come to Sirius’ room after a nightmare when he was little. Sirius hadn’t loved their father, but Regulus had. Regulus had wanted nothing more than to make that insufferable man proud, he hadn’t seen his attempts for what Sirius knew they were, futile. Now Regulus was sixteen and fatherless, looking lost and sad, and Sirius didn’t know how to fix that.

As the ceremony ended, he tried to make his way through the crowd, to Regulus, but he was impossible to find in the sea of black clothes and James was tugging Sirius’ arm, saying something about having to find the car.

* * *

After the funeral, there was a reception at the Black family home. It looked just as opulent as Sirius remembered as he took a glass of rich red wine from a passing server, ignoring the others who were circulating with trays of food. The mourners drifted around the house, whispering as is talking in normal tones would be offensive. Sirius’ friends had claimed a corner of the sitting room where they huddled together, shooting him concerned looks as he was forced to interact with members of his extended family. The wine his mother was serving wasn’t taking the edge off of being sneered at from every direction, so he slipped out of the room and wandered upstairs to track down his father’s impressive scotch collection.

The door to his father’s study was open, something that had never happened when the man was alive. That room had been where he hid from his family, from his shrew of a wife and his disappointing sons. Immediately to the right of the door was the cabinet where Sirius knew the expensive alcohol was locked away. He’d come prepared, with a small lock picking kit in his back pocket, knowing that he’d find something worth stealing from the house during the reception, and he set to work getting the cabinet open.

“It’s not there.”

Sirius jumped, turning to find the source of the voice. In his haste, he hadn’t noticed Regulus slouched in the large leather desk chair that was backlit be the weak March light filtering in through the picture window.

“Mother moved it. She knew that it would be the only thing of father’s you’d want.” Regulus took a long drag out of the bottle he was clutching and grimaced. “I had to go into her closet to get this.” He held up the bottle, which shone like liquid gold as it caught the light. “I saw her knickers before I found it. I can only hope that if I finish this off, I won’t have to remember that she has a taste for red satin.”

Crossing the room, Sirius took the bottle out of his brother’s hand and studied it as he leaned against the windowsill. It was a thirty-five year old highland whisky, probably worth well over a thousand pounds, “Nice choice, Reg.” He raised the bottle to his lips and took a swig, shuddering slightly as it burned his throat. “You really shouldn’t be drinking, though. Stunts a lad’s growth. I think I’ll have to confiscate this.”

Regulus snorted, “As if you weren’t drinking at sixteen. But I shouldn’t be surprised, hypocrisy runs deep in this family.”

Sirius laughed, “You’re not exempt from that, you know.” Shaking his head, he started to walk around the room that he’d seen so rarely. He stopped in front of the eastern wood paneled wall that held shelves filled with ships in bottles. 

Stupid, fucking ships in bottles. His father had been obsessed with building them, had spent hours putting each one together, had always wanted to take to the sea, abandon his responsibility. His father’s dreams had been crushed, in a long-standing family tradition of living the most miserable life possible. The ships were all different sizes and colors and no one had ever been allowed to touch them. Sirius reached out and tapped one, letting the clink of his nail against the glass fill the silence as he took another drink of scotch.

“I fucking hate those ships,” Regulus said, getting up to stand next to Sirius. “I always wanted to make one with him, but he’d never let me, said they weren’t for children. Fucking toy ships aren’t for children.” He ran a finger along the curve of one of the bottles. “I tried, you know, unlike you I tried to make him proud, tried to make him love me. It never worked.” Rather than angry or sad, Regulus just sounded tired.

Sirius didn’t know what he could say to that. That he had tried too? That he’d tried until he just couldn’t anymore? That he’d never wanted to leave Regulus behind, but he’d needed to save himself first? So he didn’t say anything, instead handing the whisky back to his brother.

They silently passed the amber liquid between them as whispers from downstairs hummed in the background like white noise, continuing until Sirius got an idea. He shoved the bottle back towards Regulus, he stumbled across the room to the closet, where he searched until he pulled out a garment bag. Grinning triumphantly, he carried it across the room and opened it.

“Grab the bottles, Reg.” He felt slightly manic as he tossed the bag at his brother’s feet. His hands reached for their father’s most prized possessions, which he tossed unceremoniously into the bag. The bottles clanked loudly as Regulus stared at him as though he’d gone mad, before slowly beginning to grin too.

Regulus put the scotch on one of the shelves before helping Sirius move the bottles, which filled the bag quickly. It took them both to force the zipper closed and there were still bottles left on the shelves, Regulus took as many of those into his arms as he could before following Sirius out of the room.

The bag jangled as Sirius dragged it along the hallway behind him. “Keep up, Reg,” he said as his brother stumbled slightly over his own feet.

Leading the way up the servants stairs to the attic, then up one more set of stairs to the roof where he’d spent so many nights sneaking cigarettes, Sirius stopped at the roof’s back edge and looked down to the small courtyard below.

Regulus watched with rapt attention as he opened the bag and pulled out a single bottled ship. Holding the ship up to the light, Sirius examined it closely. This one was made of a dark wood with pristine white sails that billowed in the nonexistent wind, perfect except for the smudges that Sirius’ fingers were leaving on the glass. Sirius tested the weight in his hand for a moment before suddenly tossing it off of the roof. Gaping, Regulus moved closer to watch it drop, allowing the bottles he’d been holding to clatter at his feet as the one Sirius had thrown shattered on the stones below.

For a moment after the impact they both stood frozen, amazed by what Sirius had done. But then Sirius let out a loud whoop and Regulus began to laugh hysterically as he leaned down to pick up another bottle.

Soon the air was filled with the sound of smashing ships, tinkling glass, bottles whistling as they plummeted toward the ground. It didn’t last long, suddenly the last bottle was sitting in Regulus’ palm and he wasn’t laughing anymore. His cheeks were wet, and Sirius realized that at some point they’d both began to cry. Regulus stared at the last ship, light wood with deep emerald sails this time, his knuckles were white with the force of his grip and he seemed to be memorizing the way it looked before he flung it toward the ground, glaring as he watched it fall.

“Fuck you Dad,” he yelled, voice cracking. Below them, their mother’s servants were already beginning to sweep up the debris that looked like the remains of a miniature naval battle.

Sirius placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and was surprised when Regulus suddenly turned and tucked himself against Sirius’ chest. Despite, his shock, Sirius quickly wrapped his arms around his brother.

“I’m sorry Reg,” he said softly. Sirius wasn’t even sure exactly what he was apologizing for. For leaving, for never coming back, for their shitty excuse of a father, for everything that had driven the two of them apart when it had once been the two of them against the world. Maybe Sirius couldn’t fix any of this, but at least he was starting to feel less hollow.


End file.
